


messages on the wind

by EverShadow



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, Pining, assassin's creed valhalla as told by Randvi, mild spoilers for the plot, randvi is bisexual in this, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverShadow/pseuds/EverShadow
Summary: Randvi of the Stag clan thinks she knows her fate. Being married to Sigurd, managing the menial tasks, and watching a certain drengr from a distance simultaneously too close and too far, will Randvi accept her role or will she pick up an ax and fight fate where she stands? And perhaps fate too works in strange, labyrinthine ways.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 198





	1. prologue

At ten, Randvi fancied herself the finest spearfisher the Stag tribe had ever produced. Her father, Jarl Kåre Stensson, watched her with a fond eye from a distance, proudly marveling at the large haddock she lugged back to him over her shoulder. Her bright red hair glinted with sun and water; a trait inherited from her late mother that reminded Jarl Kåre of his departed wife every day.

"Look, father, I caught another one!" She dropped the fish onto the ground with a dull thud. He gave it a once over and knelt to clap his meaty hands on her thin shoulders.

"It's beautiful, Randvi, and we will not go hungry tonight. But you are not a fisher's daughter. You are the daughter of a mighty Jarl. I do not think these skills befitting of such a one, no?" His smile teased, and his tone carried none of the seriousness his words did. Randvi folded her arms across her chest and puffed up defensively.

"Father, if I can spear the heart a tiny fishling, I have no doubt that I can spear the heart of a mighty drengr," she argued. His laugh filled the longhouse behind him, echoing amidst the grand dining hall. He grabbed the fish by the tail and stood tall, twice as tall as his only child.

"You have the wisdom of a raven, Randvi," he conceded.

"I must have gotten that from mother because you have the wisdom of a boar," Randvi joked, prodding her father in the leg. He put his hand over his chest, faking as if he'd been stabbed.

"Her cunning wit too," he replied. With his free arm, he leaned down and scooped his daughter into his arms. "Come, tonight we will feast on your kill, and tomorrow, I will teach you how to wield an ax.”

They feasted on haddock, and true to his word, Jarl Kåre took his young daughter out into the fields the next morning. He placed a weathered beard ax in her hand. The heft and balance of it made her uneasy as she took a few practice swings. Her father pointed to a tree, half-hewn, and already covered with blade scars.

"Get used to the feel of the ax when it hits something," he said. She obediently took up a stance, mimicked from what she'd seen the other vikingr in her clan do. She swung the ax hard at the tree. She'd expected the blade to carve straight through with the weight she threw behind the blow, but it only embedded an inch into the wood and reverberated painfully up her arm.

"Ow!" She exclaimed, letting go. The palm of her hand stung ferociously as if stung by a hundred bees. Her father laughed heartily. He grabbed the handle of the ax and pulled it free, handing it to her.

"Aye, it stings the first time. But we'll harden your bones and weather your muscles until each hit sings through you and wakens your battle spirit." He clapped a hand on her shoulder, and she gingerly took back the weapon.

"Father, do you think I will grow up to be a powerful drengr?" He beamed at her, patting her head. His hand almost covered her entire skull.

"We shall see my little doe," he said. "First, you need to grow."

Summers, winters, harvests passed. The sun traced its way through the sky countless times, and Randvi did grow. First in her bones, in the way most children do when they stretch towards the sky before their frame fits. She spent years cursing her lithe frame, watching with envy as the boys in her clan put on a pound of muscle with every pound of meat they ate. Her gangly arms and legs, Randvi the twig, the other children teased her, would not grow no matter how many times she swung her ax or carried sacks of barley up hills. But where she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed of body and mind. She knew just by looking at the gait of someone where to hit to maximize damage. Perhaps it was the subtle limp of an ankle rolled the day before or the stiffness in a shoulder from overuse. It didn't matter how minor, Randvi would find it, and, with the precision she'd honed spearing fish, would needle at it until her opponent fell apart at the seams.

She was sixteen when her father called her to the seer. As they made their way up the mountain, she could see the whiteness of his beard in the stunning sun. For the first time in her life, she realized her father was not ageless.

"Come, Randvi," he beckoned to her. "Accompany your old father up to the völva. I wish to ask her about our clan's future."

"Father? Do you worry?" She asked, concern etching the grooves of her brow.

"No, no, my daughter. But I wish to know so that I can prepare you for when you take my place on the throne." Her heart soared with the thought.

Their seer brewed a potion of fly agaric, and her father drank it all. He settled into a bed of hay, and Randvi sat beside him through his fitful sleep. The völva studied her with amused curiosity.

"You have grown much in the time since I last saw you," the elder seer noted.

"Thank you, but I fear this body will not be strong enough to defend our clan," she replied with a sad look at her bony frame. The völva laughed and resumed grinding herbs.

"Do not worry, young Randvi. In time, Thor's strength will fill you. Your father is strong, as was your mother. Your lineage carries with it the blessing of Odin." She held out a small bowl filled with dark liquid. "Do you wish to see your future as well, young doe?" Randvi considered it but quickly shook her head.

"No, I am confident that whatever comes my way, I am prepared to meet it." The seer chuckled again and put the bowl away.

"Well spoken."

Her father tossed and moaned while he dreamed. In times, sweat poured from his skin, and Randvi did her best to wipe it away. She often looked to the völva for a sign that all was well, but the seer's expression remained unknowable. Hours passed, and eventually, her father's thrashings calmed, and he drifted into a more familiar, peaceful slumber.

Randvi woke when her father's soft touch shook her. She started, realizing she'd nodded off. Jarl Kåre shushed her excitement with a finger to his lips.

"Father! You're awake!" She cried happily.

"Yes, my child. And I have much to discuss."

"What did you see?" Their seer asked. Her father stood tall and gazed into the beams of the hut as if seeking meaning there. He cleared his throat.

"I saw ravens feasting on our village," he said. The imagery shook Randvi to her core, but her father remained unmoved. His face showed no fear. "Hundreds of ravens, pecking at our corpses. Odin watched us from a hill, and I cried out to him, but he did not respond. I saw," only then did Jarl Kåre falter a bit. His voice wavered. "I saw my wife." He turned to Randvi with a question in his eyes.

"Your wife? What was she doing?" The völva pressed on. His gaze never left Randvi when he responded.

"She walked past me, even as I called her name. She walked through the village of ravens, up the hill, and stood next to Odin. It seemed..." He shook his head and turned his attention back to the seer. "It seemed as though they were close." The völva closed her eyes, taking in the visuals as if she'd personally seen them. When they opened, her eyes were clear, and her expression solemn.

"That is troubling news," the seer said quietly.

"What does it mean?" Randvi cut in impatiently. Her father shot her a glare that silenced her. The völva sighed and shook her head. Her gaze switched between the Jarl and his daughter, weighing them in her judgment equally.

"I fear you've seen the end of the Stag clan," she said firmly.

"Impossible!"

"Randvi, be quiet," her father snapped, and then softer, "are you sure?"

"I am. I believe you've seen the end of your clan, but that does not mean that all is lost. That Odin and your wife were there, that signals hope, for your wife would not go to him without trust." The Jarl looked back at his daughter with the same studied expression she'd seen earlier as he relayed his dream. His mouth opened and closed several times before he spoke, almost in a whisper.

"Völva, the image of my wife, I..." Randvi held her breath as if she knew what he was about to say next. "To be honest, I don't know if it was my wife. It might've been..." He trailed off, and suddenly both eyes fixed on the young girl standing next to her father. Her pulse fluttered, and she fidgeted in place, unsettled by the way they studied her in silent contemplation.

"W-what?" She asked, breaking through the quiet.

"Interesting," the völva said. "Perhaps we read it differently. For if what you speak is true, Jarl Kåre, maybe the fate of the village actually rests on your daughter's shoulders." Anxiety prickled Randvi's skin as again tension settle in the hut. Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned around. The smell of the potions, herbs, and flowers overwhelmed her, made her head spin. She broke into a sprint, bursting through the door into the clear night, heaving dryly on the dirt. She grasped handfuls of sparse grass and snow, struggling to even out her breathing.

"Randvi," her father approached her from behind.

"I can't, father," she gasped. Hot tears sprung from her eyes. "I don't want to be responsible for the destruction of our clan."

"Randvi, we don't know that for certain. These visions, they're clouded, and perhaps I am remembering them wrong."

"No, father, you heard her—the death of our clan and me. We are connected somehow," she sobbed. He threw his arms around her shoulders and held her tightly.

"Randvi, listen to me. You are my daughter. You are Randvi Kåresdottir, future Jarl of the mighty Stag clan. Our clan is strong, as is our family." She turned to look at him and found comfort in his guileless complexion. "Whatever fate lies ahead, I trust you."

"I trust you too, father." Together, they stood. The seer watched them from the threshold to her hut. Jarl and daughter turned to regard her in turn.

"Thank you, völva, for your wise words and visions. I will do my best to prepare my daughter to be the future of our clan." The völva nodded in acknowledgment.

"Go. And Randvi," she paused, carefully contemplating her next words. "Randvi Kåresdottir, when fate comes to you, do as you say, and meet it head-on."


	2. Chapter 2

The seer had been right about one thing at the least. As more years passed, Randvi filled out. Muscles hardened on her bones, and scars built on her skin as her father took her on more and more raids. In time, he remained behind and let her lead. With her father's warband and ax in hand, Randvi conquests extended further and further in search of glory and silver. 

"HA!" Randvi shouted as she held up the bloody decapitated head of a rival clan member, the so-called drengr of this particular war party. His blood covered her armor, her face, and in her eyes danced the light of a victorious warrior - wild and battle drunk. "The Stag clan is victorious!" Her party let out a deafening cheer over the crackling of fire painting the village orange and red. Already her men and women scrambled to collect silver and supplies while burning what they couldn't carry to the ground. Randvi savored the moment, let the battle rage course through her veins. The taste of triumph on her tongue was sweeter than any mead she'd drink later that night, not that it would stop her from drinking a full barrel.

"Randvi, your father will be proud to hear of your success today!" Gertrud, one of her most trusted warriors, clapped her soundly on the back. "We will sing of this battle for ages."

"I hope not," Randvi replied with a wink. "I hope that every new battle shadows the previous." Gertrud laughed heartily.

"Glory seeker!" she accused with a twinkle of jest in her eyes.

"If seeking glory takes me to new lands and fills our boat with spoils for our clan, then I will chase it to Helheim if I must," she promised. Gertrud nodded, and her grin faded into a knowing smile. Beyond the battle blood burning through her, a new heat bubbled just below the surface. She knew its call well by this age, and knew it would draw her into the shadows with Gertrud later.

It wasn't just Gertrud. She didn't remember when they'd stopped calling her Randvi the twig, only that some of the men and women in her village started blushing when she looked at them. Love letters found their way into her room from anonymous and named alike. At first she didn't know what to do with them and showed them to her father, who read them until his face turned red and he hastily returned the letters to her hand with an embarrassed laugh.

"Randvi, it seems you take after your mother when it comes to suitors!" He said. "But do not forget who you are. You are a Jarl's daughter, and one day you will be the wife of a powerful drengr." It was the first time Randvi had heard him speak of marriage at all, and she thought of it as a distant possibility. She didn't want to give up her life on the water, nor the rush that came with turning an enemy's weapon against them to become a passive homemaker.

Nor did her father's warning stop her from finding her training partner, Toke, after reading his particular letter and pushing him into the hay behind the archery grounds. At the time, he proved to be as adept in bed as he was with his bow, but quickly Randvi surpassed him in both regards. Their brief affair ended amicably, and as easily as she left his company, she stepped into Gertrud's.

Gertrud had not written her a letter. She went about it in a much more direct manner, finding Randvi after a particularly successful raid and inquiring if she would like to take a walk with her. They managed just out of sight and sound of their war party before Gertrud set on her with confidence and hunger. Randvi returned both in equal measure.

They sat shoulder to shoulder at the fire later that night. The sky shone clear above them, the stars twinkling merrily as if spurred by the mirth and mead. Randvi drank Toke under the metaphorical table and left him passed out half in the snow.

"Oh, Randvi, Randvi, what we could have been..." he groaned in his sleep. Randvi rolled her eyes but it made the world around her spin uncomfortably. It took a pair of steadfast hands not her own to steady her.

"Gertrud!" She slurred. "Shall we?" Gertrud held onto her hips and pressed a kiss to her lips. She tasted of honied drink and smoked meat. They stole away to the longship, which offered enough cover from the rest of the party, but not so much that anyone still standing wasn't privy to their actions. The two slept very little that night.

They traveled for a week before they saw the familiar banners and colors of their clan. The salty sting on Randvi's lips gave way to a smile as they neared. She sounded their horn, and the village people gathered by the shore to welcome them back. But as Randvi's eyes scanned the crowd, she saw relief and sadness mixed in with joy, and a few notable faces were absent. She leaped off the front of the longship before they properly docked.

"Randvi! Randvi, thank the gods you've returned," a few of them cried out, their hands taking hold of her arms.

"Where is everyone? Have they gone on a raid without me?" She demanded.

"You must see your father immediately," Sif, an elder of the village, commanded. She cast a glance back at her raiders as they unloaded the ship, and took off in a sprint towards the longhouse.

Her father sat hunched in his throne with years on his face Randvi hadn't seen before. When she burst through the threshold, he looked up, his eyes bloodshot. He managed a slight smile when he saw his daughter, and he straightened.

"Father?" Randvi walked purposefully up to him, her face a vision of concern and confusion. "Something's happened. Where are the rest of the warriors? Where are Bo and Ulf and Sune?" He pulled her into an embrace that lacked the strength she'd known throughout her lifetime.

"Dead," he whispered into her ear. She pushed herself away from him.

"Dead? How? Bo had the strength of a score of bears! Was it Thor himself who struck him down?"

"No, Randvi. It was men. They were traveling west looking for game and they stumbled upon another war party. A battle ensued, and we lost many men."

"Then I would hate to see the other war party," Randvi's voice carried hope, but seeing her father's graven visage sank any of that.

"No, Randvi. We nearly lost everyone. Bjorn was the only one who made it back, and he has been at the seer's recovering from grievous injuries ever since. Today, she's warned me he has clung onto life for as long as he could, and will likely not see the light of another day." Randvi watched her father sit back down on his throne with horror on her face. 

"Father, what are you doing? I am home, my raiders are home, let us gather up arms and send those attackers crawling into Helheim!" She shouted. Her father rested his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. "Why are you just sitting around? We have to take revenge for our fallen brothers and sisters." Her father leaned back and closed his eyes. She took a step towards him, her mouth open to protest when he cut her off.

"Randvi..."

"Get off your throne, old man, and pick up your ax!" Randvi yelled. Behind her, a small crowd of villagers had assembled in the hall, drawn by the shouting. Jarl Kåre's eyes darted between his daughter and his people. His hands balled into fists. Randvi, for the first time in her life, felt disgusted at her father's inaction.

"Fine!" She snapped. "If you wish you warm your arse by the hearth while our clan goes unavenged -"

"How long have you been gone, Randvi?" His roared. He slammed his fist on the arm on his throne, the heavy thud echoing through the silent hall. "You've been gone a full winter, chasing silver and glory when your clan needed you here! Do you know how long ago they died? Months, Randvi! Months. Do you know how many more men and women I sent to avenge them?!" Randvi fell silent as horror crept along her skin. She knew she'd been gone a while, but to hear what had transpired in her absence, to hear that the loss was not fresh to the rest of the clan as it was to her...all her bravado collapsed.

"We lost so many," her father's voice fell again into a low, beaten tone. "Even with you and your raiders back, we cannot hope to fight them and win." Randvi walked up to her father and placed her hand on his shoulder. Her anger tempered, wave after wave of grief flooded her body. She would visit the graves of her brothers and sisters tonight and plead for their forgiveness for leaving them when they needed her most. All the silver in her longship felt paltry compared to the loss of life.

"What do we do, father?"

"There is nothing to be done." He reached up and took her hand in his. "Their Jarl and I have met to discuss terms."

"Terms?" Her father kissed her hand, and held it firmly in his grasp.

"We cannot hope to survive the winter. Our stores have been decimated, our strength sapped. Their Jarl listened and heard, and he wants peace." Randvi snatched her hand back. A Jarl that wanted peace when complete victory was at hand? That sounded like a cowardly Jarl to her. Better to go to Valhalla ax in hand than to shrivel up in peace.

"What did you do, father?" Randvi asked, her blood cooling with every second. He looked at her, eyes wet with unshed tears and he cowed his head. She wanted to hit him, to wake up the battle blood she knew flowed in his veins beneath his skin.

"I am sorry, Randvi," he whispered. "But I must do what is best for my clan. We are to join them as one, to submit to their rule. I will give up my throne, and..." He looked at her, his hands outstretched as if asking for forgiveness. "As a sign of peace, I've agreed to marry you to his son." The rest of the world dropped away, and all the blood left Randvi's face. She stared in disbelief and disgust at her father, at his cowardly actions. Was this the man who slew a dozen men at once? Was this the man known as Kåre Arrow-Catcher?

"How could you...?" she hissed.

"Tomorrow, we set forth to meet them at their home. We shall bring the silvers and furs you've won as an offering,"

"And me," she spat. Bile sat on the tip of her tongue as she processed the fact that she was worth no more than the treasures she'd gained, that she was like a prize mare to be traded and bred at whim.

"Randvi, it is my duty as Jarl to ensure the survival of my people."

"What kind of survival is this? 'Give me glorious death', I thought. I thought we fought until the valkyries called us to Odin's hall, and we do not stop a second before."

"What of the children? What of the babes too young to fight? Will you condemn them to the depths of Hel as well, all for your honor?" Randvi bit her tongue so she wouldn't retort that babes who died this way would be more welcome in Valhalla than her father. "No, I won't let that happen. This is the only way forward. Tomorrow we sail for the Raven clan." Randvi's eyes went wide when she heard him speak their rival's name and it threw her back in time to when her father sought the seer. It all made sense, her father's quickness to bend the knee, the role she played,

_ I saw ravens feasting on our village, _ his haunted words returned to her in force. 

_ Maybe the fate of the village actually rests on your daughter's shoulders. _

Randvi backed away from her father and then turned and fled the longhouse. She nearly bowled over Gertrud as she carried a crate of supplies. The contents spilled onto the ground but she didn't bother to help pick them up. She ran into the woods with no destination in mind, only knowing that she needed to get as far away from her village as possible. Somewhere above her, a raven cawed triumphantly. 


	3. Chapter 3

Randvi was used to the salt sting on her lips and the cold wind whipping her dry face. But nothing else about the trip felt natural. The longboat, typically raucous with song and tales, stayed silent save for her father's occasional order. Randvi sat furthest from him and refused to look him in the eye. Though she wore no binds around her wrists, she felt every bit a prisoner in the vessel. She focused all of her attention on the waves left by the boat's wake, rippling into the distance until it smoothed out over the crystal clear waters. A small part of her wanted to jump, to swim away knowing she'd last minutes in the freezing water. Maybe death was better than a lifetime of imprisonment.

She sat on the thought, nothing more until someone called out, "I see Raven Clan flags!" Heads in the boat snapped around, each craning to catch a glimpse of their destination. Randvi kept her eyes down and bit her lip hard. Her hands apprehensively thumbed over the handle of her ax, wearing the smooth leather to a shine. She didn't look up until she felt the boat jolt to a stop as it hit the dock. She stayed until all the other people got out.

"Randvi," her father extended a hand. "Come." She disregarded his hand when she stood, pushing past him with a hostile shoulder check. She took in her surroundings as she disembarked. The village wasn't that much bigger than hers, she thought with some disdain. But the warriors that patrolled and stood guard all looked capable, healthy, and numerous. She'd had a fleeting thought on the trip, to declare her father unfit to lead and to strike the Raven clan down when she arrived. Looking at her tired crew in comparison to some of the hardiest warriors she'd seen in a while, she felt the invisible shackles tighten.

"Welcome, Jarl Kåre!" A barrel-chested man with a dark, graying beard approached them with open arms. He and her father clasped arms, though Randvi could see the muscles in her father's neck tense when they touched. "Please, make yourselves at home. Our village is your village, whatever you need, do not hesitate to ask." The man turned his attention to Randvi. His gaze sharpened as he studied her from head to toe, and she bristled at the once-over, again feeling like nothing more than livestock at market.

"Jarl Styrbjorn, this is my daughter, Randvi," Jarl Kåre said. Styrbjorn extended his hand to shake. Randvi glanced over at her father, who nodded solemnly. She took greeted him in kind, and she was sure her stiffness did not go unnoticed.

"Welcome to your new home, Randvi," Styrbjorn said quietly. She let go of his arm and shuddered at the thought. The Raven Clan's Jarl turned back to her father with a beaming smile. "Come, Kåre, you must be tired and in need of mead to warm you up. We've much to discuss about our clans' unification."

"Where is your son, Sigurd?" Randvi's father asked, looking around inquiringly at the warriors standing close by. Randvi couldn't help but wonder the same about her intended. Her eyes passed from warrior to the next, eyeing each one with growing disdain.

"My son is currently out hunting in preparation for tonight's feast. He will return soon. We'll see him later tonight." Jarl Styrbjorn clasped a hand across her father's back and guided him away from the docks. Her father threw a glance back at her, but she avoided it, instead turning her attention to the unpacked supplies still on the longboat.

Once she'd helped set up tents and bedding with her clan, she started walking towards the longhouse in the center of the village, only to stop partway there. It was the last place she wanted to go, and so she instead followed the path to the left out of the village. She walked along the snow-covered trail, trodden down by previous passersby until she could no longer hear the bustle of activity behind her. The snowy landscape, centered by the waterfall a short distance in front of her, offered trace amounts of solace. She stood in front of the thundering water, her breath silvery in the cold, and stared up into the sky.

"Odin, strike me down before I become a slave to the Raven Clan," she said aloud as tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. When only the sound of rushing water responded, she kicked at a nearby rock in anger, barely moving it and injuring her toe instead. She cursed at the pain, hopping on her one uninjured foot until the throbbing subsided. She then turned her angry words on her father, on Styrbjorn, and Styrbjorn's son.

Something crunched in the snow behind her, and she froze in place. She slowly turned around, unsure if some predator had come upon her anguishing and mistook it for easy prey. Her hand dropped to the handle of her ax. Nothing obvious stood out to her. Her eyes darted from bush to bush, scanning for telltale signs of a wolf or bear. But when nothing stuck out, she assumed that it had been a loose rock falling into the snow. She'd just begun to turn around when she caught blurred movement out of the corner of her eye. Something black rushed at her, and she barely had time to pull out her ax to parry the attack. Metal rang out against metal.

_ Metal? _

It took her a second to process that her assailant was human, not beast, though her attacker certainly moved with the speed and brutality of one. She had just enough time to raise her ax to block again before the warrior beset on her. The blow reverberated through her arm and she danced away to put some distance between the two of them. Blood pounded in her ears along with the sound of rushing water. She stood a few feet away, drawing deep breaths while her heart thudded against her chest.

Firstly, she noticed her attacker was a woman. The woman cut an intimidating figure against the mottled forest background. Even through her clothes, Randvi could tell she was a well-worn drengr. It was her eyes that chilled Randvi the most. Her eyes gleamed with a danger Randvi knew all too well - had felt one too many times. It was the look of someone who believed with all her heart that she would win the fight.

She didn't get to a second observation before the woman charged her again. She swung low with her ax which Randvi caught with the neck of her own. She didn't count on the woman lashing out with the heel of her boot, catching her in the knee. She dropped to the other, pain radiating up her leg. She rolled away just in time as the blade came down, sending a drift of snow exploding upward. She tried to stand, but her leg shook, unable to bear the weight of her. The dark-haired woman swung again, and Randvi mustered all the strength in it to deflect. Metal on metal rang out, and the parry caused her ax to fly from her hands. The flying weapon caught the woman off guard, and the next instant, a splash of blood reddened the white snow beneath her. A large gash starting from just above her lip extended to her cheek. She had no time to take pride in the first blood. The gleam of her opponent's ax flashed above her head, and she brought her arm in a futile attempt to stop what she knew would be a killing blow.

"EIVOR! STOP!" A booming voice commanded. She'd already begun the death swing, but at the last minute veered off and hit a frozen stump of wood next to Randvi's supine figure. Randvi took the distraction and scrambled just out of reach. The two of them looked up at the voice. A lone figure ran towards them. His chestnut brown hair whipped in the wind as he made his way towards them.

"I found this scout close to our camp, cursing our clan with her breath." Even as blood flowed freely from her wound, the woman, Eivor, looked as calm and unbothered as if she'd just gone for a stroll in the forest.

"She's not a scout, she's a guest. Or did you forget that today we welcome the Stag clan into our midst?" The man asked with a smile. Eivor's face turned as red as the blood dripping from her chin.

"Is that today?" She asked with no small amount of embarrassment. The man laughed deeply and offered a hand to Randvi. She took it and gingerly hobbled to her feet.

"By Freya, who are you?!" Randvi snapped. The man walked a short distance, bent down, and retrieved Randvi's ax. He handed it back to her.

"I am Sigurd Styrbjornsson. I see you've met my hot-headed sister, Eivor, already. Judging by your garb, you are of the Stag clan?" His eyes were bright and calm.  _ Styrbjornsson, _ the name rang in her head. Was this the man to whom she was intended? She'd somehow pictured a sniveling stick of a man too cowardly to fight his own battles. But Sigurd carried confidence and strength she didn't see in many of her own trusted men.

"I am Randvi Kåresdottir of the Stag clan," Randvi replied. Sigurd's expression changed from one of gentle amusement, to one more solemn. His gaze held no malice, just that of recognition and inquiry. He turned back to Eivor.

"You've got a little -" He motioned at her face. Randvi, by all accounts, could have mistaken Eivor for a crazed beast still. The battle light in her eyes never dulled for a second. She scooped down and collected some snow, pressing it up to her wound with a hiss.

"Promise me you won't tell Styrbjorn about this," Eivor said with a soft laugh.

"That you nearly killed my betrothed?" Sigurd replied. Randvi saw an expression of alarm flash across Eivor's face, and their eyes met briefly before Eivor stared back at Sigurd.

"Betrothed?" She repeated. "Sigurd, when...?"

"Let's get you back to the longhouse and get that leg treated," Sigurd went on, ignoring Eivor's question. He leaned down, offering his shoulder to Randvi. She bristled at the thought of relying on him, but her leg throbbed in protest when she tried to walk on her own. Reluctantly, she put her arm around Sigurd's shoulder, and despite herself, marveled at how effortlessly he bore most of her weight. Together, they started their way back to the Raven clan. Randvi cast a glance over her shoulder at Eivor, still stunned by what seemed like a new revelation. She then angrily threw the bloodied snow she'd been holding into the distance. 


End file.
